


An Unexpected Truth

by zubeneschamali



Series: That Pink Silk Robe [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform, bunker!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zubeneschamali/pseuds/zubeneschamali
Summary: Sequel to The One True Thing, a Wincest fic set in the pre-trial days of the bunker. Sam has a special favor to ask of Dean, but when Dean turns the tables on him, Sam's going to get even more than what he asked for.





	An Unexpected Truth

To his credit, Sam kept his word to himself, refraining from asking Dean to wear the pink silk robe until two days had passed.

Actually, it was more like four days, given how caught up he was in re-learning Dean's body, and vice versa. The spell of Veritas's that he'd accidentally read aloud and had enchanted him into admitting to Dean that he'd never stopped wanting him had led to a spectacular outcome that Sam never could have dreamed of.

He hadn't been lying when he said to Dean that the only good part of the year living under the shadow of his deal was the two of them being more-than-brotherly. But it was so much better now without that shadow over them. Sam didn't feel the urge to hold on to Dean tight enough to bruise, like he was going to slip away at any moment. Though Dean still kept his eyes open the entire time, his expression was more of wonder than of desperation, like he could enjoy what they were doing instead of clinging to every moment as if it were his last.

Which was not to say there wasn't some clinging and bruising going on anyway. Along with the sucking and the rutting and the groping and the…

Sam was getting hard just thinking about it.

It was mid-morning, and Dean was out on a supply run while Sam was poring over an old manuscript that might be relevant to the trials. He couldn't stop thinking about Dean, though, about how right it felt to be sleeping in the same room again. More than that, they were sleeping in the same bed. Last time around, Dean had usually gone back to his own bed after cleaning up, and Sam hadn't complained, not wanting to risk Dean putting an end to anything. This time, Dean crawled back into bed beside him and manhandled Sam onto his back or his side, eying him for a moment as if daring him to say a word before curling over him like a spider monkey.

That meant when Dean got up in the morning, he put on his frumpy dead-guy robe before stumbling off to make coffee and breakfast. Sam had told himself firmly yesterday morning that he was going to ask Dean to wear the pink silk next time.

But that was yesterday, and the words had died in Sam's throat this morning when Dean woke him up with a blowjob that pretty much made him pass out afterwards. He woke a second time to find cooling coffee and a note on the bedside table, and he steeled himself for Dean's return.

It wasn't until after dinner that he brought it up, when he was doing the dishes and pretending to be annoyed at the way Dean kept flicking the dishtowel at his ass. This place had been good for both of them in so many ways, but best of all as far as Sam was concerned was the number of smiles and outright laughs that Dean had given up since they moved in. It might have been more than in the last few years combined, come to think of it.

Sam didn't want to risk the smirk slipping off of Dean's face, but he also thought that taking advantage of a lighter moment might do the trick. So he carefully rinsed a plate, put it in the dishrack, and said, "Hey, Dean."

"Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you could do something for me."

"Next time I'm in town, you mean?"

"No, I mean here. In the bunker." Sam rolled his eyes. "The Batcave."

Dean got the same goofy look on his face that he always did when Sam used that word. "Anything you want, Sam."

Sam bit his lip. "You know how the other day you were wearing that robe? Before we…" He gestured back and forth between them.

One eyebrow went up. "Before we…"

Rolling his eyes, Sam huffed out a breath. "Before we started being intimate again."

"Being intimate." The sarcasm was practically dripping off Dean's words. "You mean before we started fucking again."

"There hasn't been any actual fucking," Sam retorted, "So no, that's not what I mean."

Dean's second eyebrow joined his first. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm not fulfilling your needs, Sammy?"

"I'm telling you that I want you to wear that pink robe, damn it!"

There was silence for a moment, during which Sam imagined all sorts of horrible ways that Dean would reject him. Then Dean cocked his head to the side. "Why?"

Sam threw up his hands. "Because it looked hot on you, okay?"

"I get that." Dean tossed the dishtowel onto the counter. "I want to know why."

"I—it looked like—" Sam made a vague gesture with his hands. "I don't know how to put it."

"You're the one who's always good with words," Dean said, taking a few steps forward until he was standing right in front of Sam. "You can't come up with a few of 'em here?"

"You'll think it's stupid." Sam tilted his head forward, hoping his bangs would hide him from Dean's probing gaze.

Instead, Dean took a hold of his chin and tilted it up until they were looking at each other. "Do you know why I was wearing it?"

Sam shook his head mutely, unable to look away from Dean's gaze.

"Have you ever worn something like that?"

He shook his head again.

"Hmm." Dean paused, and Sam was expecting a jibe about being vanilla or never having any kinky girlfriends. To Sam's surprise, what he said was, "Maybe you should."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not the one who's into that sort of thing."

"No?" Dean took a firmer hold of Sam's jaw. "You must be into it if you want me to do it."

"That's different," Sam tried.

"Ah ah ah." Dean looked at him admonishingly before stepping back. "What's good for the goose is good for the…other goose."

Sam snorted, but a nervous thrill was running down his spine. "I don't think I'd fit into that thing anyway."

"You'd be surprised," Dean said with an arched eyebrow.

That was how Sam found himself standing in his bedroom that night, hands stuffed the pockets of his jeans, staring down at the pink silk robe laying over the faded blue bedspread like it was going to reach up and bite him.

It had to be decades old, but it was still a soft, warm pink, not faded with time. The silk caught the gleam of the overhead lights, almost shimmering in the dim light. It didn't look dusty; Sam wondered if Dean had washed it or if he'd just slipped it on. It could hardly be hygienic to wear it like that, though, having sat down here in the dark all this time—

"You're stalling," he said to himself out loud. "Quit it."

Dean had gone out for a run to the hardware store, which meant Sam should have enough time to try this out. He'd stripped off his shirts but nothing else. The bunker was heated well enough, but it was still a little chilly to be standing around even partially unclothed.

Steeling himself, Sam picked up the robe and held it out from him in one hand.

He could almost hear Dean laughing at him for looking ridiculous, and so he brought up both hands and let the robe flow from one into the other. It was so soft, softer and smoother than anything he'd ever worn, and for a moment he was afraid that the callouses on his hands or a ragged-edged fingernail would catch on the delicate fabric. He stroked carefully along the fabric, and nothing caught or tore.

It felt really good.

Like easing his way into a cold lake, Sam carefully slid one arm into the sleeve of the robe. It was a tight fit around his biceps, but not enough to strain the fabric. He wondered briefly what Woman of Letters had been large enough to wear this robe and then chided himself. If Dean enjoyed wearing something like this, it stood to reason that other men did, too. Even half a century ago.

Dean seemed to think that he was one of those men, and nerves tingled in Sam's stomach at the thought.

Abruptly, Sam pulled the robe on the rest of the way. The sleeves ended about halfway down his forearms, soft silk brushing against his skin. The shoulders felt a little tight, and he checked to see that the seams weren't being strained. It wouldn't do if he ruined the garment before he got to see Dean in it.

The fabric felt nice against his back, like someone was lightly touching him. Clothes were usually for defense, whether literally in the case of a sturdy jacket or figuratively in the sense of multiple layers that protected him from other people's gazes. This robe was so light and fragile, it wasn't doing much in the way of covering him.

Sam shifted his shoulders to feel the silk move against the skin of his back. A shiver rippled down his spine, and somehow he wondered if this piece of fabric not only was failing to defend him, but was making him even more vulnerable than wearing nothing at all.

He pictured Dean wearing this robe, how its soft folds and gentle color had played against the strong, firm lines of Dean's arms and chest. Sam hadn't gotten to see what it looked like below his waist, since he'd shut the door so fast when he realized Sam had seen him.

Now, he slipped off his jeans, letting them puddle on the floor. Before he could think about it, he let his boxers follow.

The soft whisper of the silk on his ass as he leaned forward to drop his boxers was unexpected, and he let out a soft gasp. Hesitantly reaching back, Sam pressed the fabric against his skin, gently rubbing back and forth. His eyes were closed before he realized it, and the quiet moan that escaped him sounded loud in the empty room.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

Or maybe not so empty. Sam jerked upright, shoulders automatically drawing together as he turned towards the doorway. He could feel his cheeks flaming, probably a darker pink than the robe, and he opened his mouth to defend himself against the teasing he was expecting.

Instead, what Dean said in a low growl was, "Damn, that looks good on you."

Sam stopped short. He looked down, seeing the robe hanging open down to his knees. His dick was hanging out, halfway to hard and looking kind of ridiculous listing off to one side. His stomach had gone a little soft once he wasn't soulless anymore, and the sleeves left his knobby wrists on full display.

When he looked up, though, Dean was staring at him like he was a piece of pie covered in whipped cream (and that was an idea Sam was filing away for future reference). A low fire started burning in Sam's groin, and halfway became more like three quarters.

Dean took a slow step forward, shrugging off his jacket. "Store was already closed," he said, tossing the jacket onto the nearby chair without taking his eyes off Sam. "Came back sooner than I expected."

"Yeah, I, uh, I guess you did." Sam resisted the urge to fold his arms over his chest. "Thought I'd try this out like you suggested."

The heated look Dean gave him from head to toe stoked that fire a little more. "What do you think?" he asked in a low voice, coming forward another step.

Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Feels nice."

"Nice," Dean echoed. He was close enough that he could reach out and touch, fingertips tracing down the line of Sam's shoulder. The silk pressed against his arm, the heat of Dean's fingers bleeding through it, and he instinctively leaned into the touch. "Just 'nice'?"

"Different." Sam tried not to squirm as Dean took the tie of the robe in his hands and used it to pull Sam closer. When Dean leaned up, he met him halfway in a suddenly-smoldering kiss that had him gripping Dean's waist to pull him closer.

Dean's arms slid around him, and his now fully-erect cock was pressed up against the denim of Dean's jeans. The rough friction was a sharp contrast to the softness of the robe, and this time Sam did squirm. Dean murmured low in his throat, and his hands slid down Sam's lower back to caress his ass.

Sam's hips bucked forward, trapped between denim and silk. He groaned into Dean's mouth, and Dean chuckled, breaking their kiss to nip at Sam's throat. "Nice, huh?" he murmured, hands never ceasing in their movement across Sam's rear.

The silk almost felt like it was magnifying the heat of Dean's hands, and at the same time, making his touch softer and spreading it over more of Sam's skin. Sam shifted his stance, legs spreading wider, and Dean's fingers crept lower. Sam arched back, seeking more of that touch, and his cock pressed harder against Dean's clothed hip.

He fumbled at Dean's belt, yanking it and his jeans open. Part of him was relieved to see the proof that Dean was just as turned on by this as he was, but most of him just wanted release. He wrapped his fingers around both of them at once, and then Dean was the one grunting and digging his fingers into Sam's ass. The silk was pressing up against Sam's hole, and he spread his legs wider and leaned back against it.

Dean took the hint, one finger rubbing small circles through the fabric. He hadn't touched Sam there since they'd re-started this thing between them, and it was like an electric shock to feel someone's hands there again after all this time. Sam barely had time to crush his mouth to Dean's before he was coming, shivering and shuddering in Dean's arms and the tight grip of his own hand.

"God, Sammy," Dean murmured hoarsely against his mouth. "What I wanna do to you in this robe." His hands splayed wide over Sam's ass, and then he was thrusting hard into Sam's grip, splashing warm and wet over his hand.

Sam kept kissing him, more slowly and lazily now, tongues twining around each other instead of thrusting back and forth. They sagged against each other, limbs going blessedly relaxed, thumping heartbeats slowing down.

Finally, Sam raised his head. "Your turn next time." He lifted one end of the robe's belt to brush against Dean's cheek.

Dean's grin managed to be wicked and demure at the same time, and Sam's cock gave a faint twitch. Maybe "next time" was still going to be tonight.


End file.
